


The Best Thing

by evilqueenofgallifrey (MayFairy)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, based off a tumblr prompt/post, how could I resist the visual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayFairy/pseuds/evilqueenofgallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor walks in on Clara…having a dance party in the console room by herself. And belting pop music into a hairbrush. Badly. </p><p>And that’s when he knows he never stood a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Thing

**Author's Note:**

> thenotoriouscow on Tumblr said “imagine Clara singing trashy pop music in the TARDIS, dressed in a tank and booty shorts and socks and dramatically sliding across the floor singing to a brush 
> 
> and 12 watching without her knowing like holy shit I’m in love”
> 
> How could I resist??

The Doctor wakes up from his nap to find Clara gone from the library couch and a blanket over him that hadn’t been there before. He might have been grateful if the damned thing weren’t so scratchy, but as it is he just pushes the offending piece of fabric off him and onto the floor.

 _Did I fall asleep in front of Clara? Now that’s embarrassing._  He shakes his head at being unable to maintain even a mild aura of mystery, and leaves the library in search of the short brunette. Once in the hallway his ears are assaulted by the beat of a pop song he vaguely recalls as one that overtook the Earth radio stations a few years back relative to Clara’s time.

Confused and curious as to its origin, he follows the sound, which by the time he gets to the console room is louder than any trashy human pop music has any right to be. There’s something about the song which seems off and different to his hazy and vague memories of it, but he doesn’t understand what until he walks up a couple of steps so that he has a less limited view of the console platform.

Clara - the school teacher, his best friend and companion, in all her five foot two glory - seems to have legitimately lost her mind. That’s the only explanation for what he is seeing and hearing now.

She’s in a tank top and a pair of shorts that don’t seem large enough to even be worth wearing, with outlandish striped socks that come to her knees and could be the spawn of his sixth body’s coat and his fourth’s scarf. Though by his observation, the purpose of the socks is not fashion but mobility, since she is using them to slide across the glass floor like a rock star from the age of her parents.

And she’s singing. Into a hairbrush. Loudly, badly, and with such utter enthusiasm that he finds himself utterly captivated by the whole display.

_“So call me maybe!”_

The song finishes and is immediately replaced by one he knows a bit better because it used to be one of Amy’s favourites, Shania Twain’s  _Man! I Feel Like A Woman_. It seems to be one of Clara’s too, because she doesn’t even wait for the lyrics to get started, she sings the song’s famous little guitar rift too.

_“I’m going out tonight, I’m feeling alright, gonna let it all hang ooooout!”_

There are Elvis-esque leg movements to go with the guitar rift and when the lyrics start she walks in a way which he supposes might be supposed to be seductive but then he would hardly be one to know. Her waterfall of chocolate hair is being tossed this way and that as she spins and jumps.

The Doctor quickly becomes glad that she hasn’t seen him and isn’t likely to because he’s not at the top of the stairs, and she is very much in her own little bubble. Because he just knows that she would stop if she saw him, and that’s the last thing he wants. It’s the most fascinating thing he has ever seen.

Now the diminutive woman is shaking her hips and he finds his eyes following the movement closely at the same time his eyebrows knit together.

 _“The best thing beeeing a woman, is the prerogative to have a little fun!”_ Her eyes are squeezed shut and if he’s been thinking that her eyes have been out of control lately, they’re nothing compared to the utterly unnatural size of her current grin.

 _Is this what she does for fun?_ He wonders, dazed. The idea that Clara has done this before on multiple occasions, in his TARDIS or otherwise, paralyses him with confusing thoughts about what other interesting outfits she might have worn and what other dance moves she might have done on those occasions. He gets an image in his mind’s eye of her dancing on her couch in her flannel pyjamas with a ponytail that flicks into her eyes.

An ache in his chest makes him realise he would pay good money - or something actually valuable - to see such a thing. Or at least to be able to watch Clara do this for at least another two hours.

_“Oh oh oh oh! Go totally crazy - forget I’m a lady, men’s shirts short skirts, oh oh oh oh!”_

She’s twirling all around the console platform and still jumping (he has to wonder where she finds the energy, but then there’s a lot less of her to jump around than most people he supposes), using the hairbrush for a microphone and pretending the far wall is an adoring audience if her pointing finger is anything to go by.

 _Why is it that out of all the people in the universe, it’s this tiny mad creature with faulty eyes and an overly round face that I’m completely in love with?_ He wonders, and as he registers his own thoughts he feels his own eyes widen considerably.

He’s not in love with Clara. That would be ridiculous. That would be…absurd and nonsensical and  _completely and utterly true_.

It would be the most surprisingly unsurprising thing to ever happen to him. To love the small human currently doing an intense air guitar rift during the instrumental.

A thousand Gallifreyan curse words flood his mind upon this realisation, and it isn’t until the abrasive singing stops - to be replaced by a shriek - that he becomes aware of the fact that he has said a few of them aloud and been heard.

Therefore, Clara now knows she has an audience. She has whipped around to stare at him with horror and her eyes are at maximum deficiency.

“What the _hell_  are you doing here?!”

“This is my console room,” he says flatly, his mind mostly busy mourning the loss of her dance routine but also dealing with that pesky problem of his newly discovered burning love for her that makes the sun seem small and a little on the cold side.

“Yeah, but you were asleep and-” She falters and holds the hairbrush behind her back as if it means he’ll forget what she was using it for. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Few minutes.” Neither of them have moved an inch.

Clara’s face is scarlet and he’s not sure if it is the exertion from the dancing or embarrassment but he suspects it is strong elements of both. “…right. Well…at least I don’t have to worry about you putting it on the internet or something.”

He blinks at her. “Why in the world would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” Clara says, awkwardly, “It’s a thing. That people do. Film their friends doing something embarrassing and try and make it go viral on the internet.”

He shrugs and climbs the stairs so that they are on the same level and he is finally taller than her - as he should be. “It’s a good thing you weren’t doing anything embarrassing then.” There is absolutely no irony or sarcasm in his tone.

She cocks her head to the side and seems to be questioning his sanity. “Are you trying to tell me that you of all people didn’t think that was the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen?”

“No, it was definitely ridiculous,” he replies seriously, holding her gaze and taking a step towards her, “But then most things on this ship are.” He smiles at her, minutely. “I’ve never seen anything like that before, Clara. It was beautiful.”

She looks at him as if he has just said that Strax was pretty or that Missy was a harmless puppy dog. That is, so perplexed that she is downright alarmed. “Beautiful? That is probably one of the only words I  _wouldn’t_ use to describe it. Next you’re going to tell me it was elegant.”

The Doctor chuckles at that. “No, it certainly wasn’t elegant. But that’s  _why_  I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Her eyes widen - which shouldn’t be physically possible - and if he’s not mistaken, darken a shade. “Yeah?” When she bites her lip, he feels an instinctive urge that he certainly hasn’t felt in a good while, and being unused to having it, he gives in immediately.

It’s probably his Worst Idea Ever but he leans down and grabs Clara Oswald’s face so that he can kiss the breath right out of her. Only once the contact is made does he consider that maybe he should have checked if this is something she wants too, but she’s kissing him back before he can start worrying.

It is then and there that he wonders why he has never tried kissing Clara Oswald before. Talk about wasted time if there ever was any.

It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel obligated to mumble a ‘sorry’ when they break apart though. One of her hands is gripping his lapel when she opens her doe eyes to stare him.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” she says, and he ducks his head, unable to quite hide his brief smile.

“Yes Ma’am.”

A sudden shyness hits her and her cheeks go pink again. “Wow, so, um, that just happened, didn’t it?”

“Do you mean the me catching you pretending to be Shania Twain, or the kissing part?”

Clara pulls a face. “Both, I guess.” She laughs, and he has to resist the urge to kiss her again because he loves the sound of her laugh so much.

His hands had grabbed her face when he had kissed her, but now they are floating awkwardly around her shoulders, not quite touching. “I like your socks,” he says out of nowhere, eyeing them again.

She brightens. “Really?”

He snorts. “No.” He gets a whack on the shoulder for that, but he ignores it and continues with the same solemnity in his voice. “I mean, they really just need to go. In fact,” he says, gesturing to her apparel, “All of it, probably, should just…yeah. Go. To be on the safe side.”

Clara lifts an eyebrow at him. Then, the hairbrush clatters to the floor and she’s taking the tank top off and he’s forgetting how to breathe.

As she unbuttons the shorts while giving him the most smug grin imaginable, the Doctor makes a mental note to go back in time at some point and give Shania Twain a personal and heartfelt expression of gratitude.  

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Best Thing [podfic] by MayFairy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3604476) by [Pippip_hurray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippip_hurray/pseuds/Pippip_hurray)




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